This world is full of people who possessed incredible powers. Some could fly, others had unmatched strength, some could even bend reality with their minds. One out of every ten people on the Earth would develop a ‘Talent’, as scientists called it, on their fourteenth birthday due to some mutation in one of their chromosomes at birth.
While many decide to live simple lives with simple professions, others chose to use their powers to become heroes. These heroes went out and stopped robberies, rescued people from burning buildings, stopped runaway trains, practically everything they did in the comics. It was a wonderous world. The pinnacle of every child’s fantasy. Yet, when dreams become reality, reality always sets in…
***
A young man, a boy really, stumbled along the frigid streets. The winter wind blew through him, causing his tattered jacket to flutter violently. The boy shivered, trying to pull their jacket around tighter, but it did very little against the cold. It was times like these that he wished he had a fire ability, or at least something that could stop the wind, but, alas, his Talent did nothing against the harsh elements.
An abrupt cough halted the boy’s progress. One cough soon became two and two swiftly became a series of ragged and painful coughs. Falling to his knees and clutching his throat, the boy valiantly fought back the tears beginning to prick at the edges of his eyes. The all too familiar pain in his already tortured throat exploded into a fresh wave of misery as cough after cough tore at him like claws to paper.
Several minutes passed before the boy’s coughs petered out enough for him to rise to his feet. Carefully rubbing his throat, the boy looked around the nearly empty streets. The sun had long since fled the night, replaced by dark clouds that had started to steadily drop bits of frozen flakes upon the earth below. Most people had retreated to their homes long before the sun disappeared, the only exceptions being the few late nigh shoppers and those like the boy with no place to go.
Suppressing yet another shiver, the boy tried to focus on his current task: finding a place to sleep. He immediately ruling out any of the stores that had remained open (in his experience, most store clerks weren’t keen on allowing the homeless into their shops during the day. He didn’t want to try his luck this late in the evening), he looked to the areas between the apartments and buildings. At least he’d be protected from the worst of the winds.
However, much to his consternation, most of the buildings had some sort of surveillance system hooked up to them. In this day and age, when super villains were such a commodity, it wasn’t uncommon for buildings to have camera practically everywhere in order to aid law enforcement and heroes in capturing those displaying suspicious behavior. If he was caught trespassing, even if he was only sleeping, the police or, heaven forbid, a hero would be called. That was definitely something he wanted to avoid at all cost.
That being said, the only places devoid of any visible surveillance systems were already taken by other groups. Part of him considered actually asking one of the groups if his could stay the night, but considering what happened last time…
The boy shuddered unconsciously reaching towards the long scar that trailed from his left ear down the middle of his chin. Yeah, he’d rather freeze to death than do that again. Speaking of which, it appeared that this would be the case as yet another frigid blast of cold air slammed into him.
A strangled whimper escaped the boy as he gave one last look towards his surroundings, his eyes falling on a poster that had been taped to a store window. A loud colorful sign depicting Exemplar, the ‘Paladin of Justice’, with some stupid message about saying no to drugs or something. Staring at the hero’s bright gold and silver ensemble, the boy couldn’t help but feel a simmering pool of anger and hatred begin to grow within him.
“Heroes…” he mumbled, his voice scratchy and broken. “What a joke…”
“Quite the opinion, kid. Not many people would say that about heroes. Hell, some might call such language villainous.”
The boy’s eyes snapped up to. Standing in front of him was a large man, garbed in a long trench coat. A thick looking scarf was wrapped around his neck and lower face. The man grinned viciously at the boy. “You look like shit, kid.”
“I feel like it,” the boy responded, slightly wary. “What do you want?”
“I was passing through and I happened upon a kid that looked down on his luck,” the man said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He regarded the boy in front of him carefully before extending his hand to him. “So, what do you say kid? Do you need some help?”
The boy looked at the hand in front of him, noting the man’s green skin, suspicion ringing in his head like an alarm. Under normal circumstances, the boy would never even consider taking the hand of a stranger, but…
The boy’s stomach gave a loud growl, causing the boy already red cheeks to darken even further.
“Sounds like you’re hungry,” the man chuckled. “We’ve got food where we’re staying.”
It didn’t go over his head that the man had said ‘we’, meaning he wasn’t alone. If this was indeed a trap, chances were that the boy would be quickly overpowered. That being said, the man wasn’t wrong. The boy had hardly eaten anything in nearly three days. The only reason he hadn’t curled in on himself from the hunger pains was his need for shelter. If this guy could provide both…
He reached out and took the considerably larger hand. If possible, the man’s grin grew even more.
***
“Stop right there!” The shout of a police officer cut through the previously peaceful afternoon. Pedestrians walking along the sidewalk turned towards the shout, confused, only for their confusion to turn to panic as they were forcibly pushed to the side by several persons fleeing the police.
“Stop!” the pursuing officer shouts again, doing their best to weave through the pedestrians.
“Keep going!” the largest of the group shouts.
“No kidding, Tussssk!” the second figure, a taller but significantly slimmer individual, says; their voice coming out with a harsh rasp and a prolonged emphasis of their ‘S’s.
The group rounded the next corner, the echoing shouts of their pursuer following at their backs.
“Plasma, do you have everything?” the large man, Tusk, asks.
The last member of the group nods, gesturing to the battered backpack strung haphazardly over their shoulder. “I’ve got some of the stuff. Caiman has the rest with her,” he says.
“Where did Caiman and Sssssonar, go?” Cobra asks.
“I had them take a different route to split our pursuers,” Tusk answered. “With luck, we’ll be able to meet back at the warehouse before any heroes show up.”
“Stop!” the shout of the police broke the trio from their conversation. Behind them, their pursuers had grown in numbers. Now, five armed officers were chasing after them. They all had their weapons drawn, but seemed reluctant to fire.
“They won’t shoot,” Plasma says. “They won’t risk hitting a pedestrian.”
“Gotta’ love Saturday afternoons,” Tusk grunts, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face moss green face. That smile soon fell away as a shadow fell over them.
For the briefest moment, they all thought it to be a simply cloud passing by overhead. That was until they noticed the shadow’s distinctly humanoid shape.
***
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” the man said, opening to door to a small condemned bungalow.
“At least it’s out of the cold,” the boy said, sighing in relief as he stepped out of the wind. The man snorted and closed the door behind them.
“Come on. Hopefully they’ve got the fire going by now,” the man said as he stepped past the boy and down the hall. An expression of unease worked its way over the boy’s features, but he followed nonetheless. Turning the corner, the boy paused in the entryway of the house’s foyer.
“Meet the family,” the large man said dryly, gesturing widely around the room and its occupants, all of them sitting before a fireplace. A small, pitiful fire burning within it. When the boy made no move to enter further into the room, the man grunted and made a beckoning gesture towards him. “Come on over. I didn’t invite you here so you could just stand there. Take a load off!”
Nervously, the boy approached the group, taking stock of the individuals present. Aside from the large man that had brought him here, there were three other people; two on frayed couch (a young male a few years younger than him and the other appearing androgenous and covered in mottled green scales) and the other on an overturned crate that looked like a bipedal crocodile? After a brief moment of deliberation, the boy sat at the other end of the couch, scooting as close to the edge as he could.
Several minutes of awkward silence passed with four of the five denizens staring at one another suspiciously. Eventually, the larger man deliberately coughed into his hand. “Well. I suppose introductions are in order.” He gestured lazily towards the odd trio. “The name’s Quinton. This is Roland, Marlo, and Isabel. And you are?”
It took the boy to realize that the man was speaking to him. “Oh! It’s…Tyrell.”
“Tyrell, what?” the large man, Quinton, prompted.
“Just Tyrell,” the boy said with a scowl.
“Alright, alright. No need to get testy,” Quinton chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.
The boy, Tyrell, merely grunted and turned away. “You said there was food?”
“Right! Right,” Quinton said as if just remembering. He quickly moved over to the fire and began fiddling with the cooking pot Tyrell hadn’t noticed before.
“Should be just about done now,” he said, grabbing the lid of the pot, seemingly unbothered by the heat. He glanced into the pot and scowled. “Dammit. It’s not done yet?”
“Well, what do you expect?” the other boy, Roland, commented. “The fire keeps going out every ten seconds.”
No sooner had he said this, the small fire flickered feebly before spluttering out completely.
“See?” Roland commented.
“Dammit!” Quinton snarled, slamming the lid back on the pot. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another!”
Tyrell glanced at the larger man before looking at the fireplace. It looked like the kindling was still good, just a little wet, most likely from the snow outside. Maybe if he…
“Well now what are we ssssuposssed to do?” Marlow hissed, a forked tongue poking out from their mouth.
Quinton growled under his breath, staring angrily at the pot. “We’ll just have to relight the fire and hope—”
A small, bright bolt of energy shot across the room and into the fireplace. On contact, the previously smoldering kindling reignited with more force than before. Quinton gave a startled yelp as the fire suddenly roared before him. Everyone turned towards the Tyrell just as he was lowering his still glowing hand.
“…I thought I’d just…speed up the process,” Tyrell said, trying his best to keep his expression neutral.
Several seconds of pure silence passed and Tyrell was beginning to think that he had acted too rashly. Before he could decide whether or not he should make a run for it, when he heard a low chuckle.
All eyes turned to Quinton. The large man chuckled before the sound turned into a roaring laughter. “Looks like you’ve got few tricks up your sleeves, kid!” the man said between bouts of laughter.
“A few,” Tyrell said, unable to stop the small smile that crept over his face.
The large man chuckled again and removed his hood and scarf, revealing a bald green head and large, oversized tusks poking out from his mouth. “I think you’ll fit in fine around here, kid.”
***
“Move it!” Tusk yells back at his partners in crime, already several yards ahead of them.
“What about, Caiman and Sonar?!” Plasma shouts.
“We’ll meet up with them at the warehouse!” Tusk shouts back. The large man had almost made it to their van when a blur shot out from the sky and slammed into their escape vehicle, crushing it like a soda can.
Tusk came to a halt, both Cobra and Plasma, nearly crashing into him. There, standing atop of what used to be their transportation, was a heavily muscled woman garbed all in white, a cape flapping in the wind, a confident smirk playing across her face.
“Dammit,” Tusk curses, his eyes frantically looked around for another route. “The alley!”
The trio change course, racing towards the alley Tusk had pointed out. Tusk led the charge, hoping to find a side door they could escape through, but was met with a brick wall.
“Great going,” Cobra hisses angrily, glaring at Tusk. “You’ve led ussss to a dead end!”
“This is the end of the line, villains!” a boisterous voice announces. Turning, the trio saw the figure from before descend from the sky, blocking off their escape.
Cobra hissed violently, pointed fangs bared in defiance. “Aressssss.”
“Give up now and I won’t hurt you,” the heroine says confidently.
“Not on your life, hero!” Cobra shouts. They made a retching sound in the back of their throat. With a hacking cough, they fire a glob of acid at the caped women, to which Ares simply tilts her head, allowing the acidic spit to fly past.
Enraged, Cobra dashes forward, spitting several large globs of acid as they went. Unfazed, Ares advances, dodging the wads of acid with minimal effort. When the villain was within range, his arm lashed out, grabbing Cobra by their face, slamming their mouth shut and lifting them into the air.
Cobra struggles frantically, but Ares’s hand hardly twitched. Glaring at the snake-like villain in his hand, Ares lifted them higher before smashing them into the ground. Cobra gave a sharp cry before going still, the ground underneath them cracking.
Ares then turns to the remaining villains. “Next?”
***
The ‘food’, as it turned out, was a couple of cans of chicken soup. Not the most extravagant meal, but it was much appreciated on such a cold winter night. As he ate, the others introduced themselves.
They all had Talents, some more obvious than the others. Roland had super hearing, in layman’s terms (though it was more akin to echolocation). Marlo, obviously had snake-like features, including heat sensing and that weird tongue smelling. Isabel’s Talent was much more obvious, given her…crocodilian appearance and Quinton looked like an orc straight out of fantasy novel.
They were an unlikely group, but they were genuinely fun to be around. As the conversations continued and time passed, Tyrell couldn’t help but note their dynamic. Witty, sarcastic, rather blunt in some areas, yes, but they had a warmth about them. Like most families had. Because of that, Tyrell couldn’t help but find himself relaxing around them.
“So how long have you all been here?” Tyrell asked.
“Not long, we move around a lot,” Quinton answered. “As I’m sure you guessed, we’re not exactly well off.”
“Then how do you support yourselves?” Tyrell asked. “I mean, do you guys just stay here all the time?”
“No, we move around,” Quinton answered. “In terms of food well…”
“We buy things when we can, but, more often than not, we resort to stealing,” Roland cut in.
“Roland!” Quinton chided, only for the blind boy to roll her eyes.
“Please. If he’s going to hang around us, he might as well know what we do,” the boy said.
“So, you’re thieves?” Tyrell asked cautiously.
“Villainssss,” Marlo corrected, grinning unnervingly. “Thatssss what they call ussss.”
Tyrell jumped to his feet; eyes blown wide. In an instant energy began arcing around his arms like sleeves of lightning. Isabel flinched at Tyrell’s sudden movement while Marlo and Roland both leapt to their feet as well, both preparing to attack the young man.
“Wait! Hold on!” Quinton shouted, leaping to his feet and standing between the two sides. “Everyone just calm down!”
“You’re all villains!” Tyrell accused, glaring at the larger man.
“Yes, we are,” Quinton admitted. “But we mean you no harm!”
“What? Are trying to recruit me or something?” Tyrell demanded. “Was this all some elaborate plan to enlist me in some kind of League of Villains or something?”
Marlo snorted. “Come on, kid. What do you think thissss isss? A cartoon?”
“Marlo,” Quinton warned. He turned back to Tyrell. “No. I have no intention of enlisting you in anything.”
“Then what?!” Tyrell demanded, pulsing more energy down his arms. “Why did you bring me here?!”
“Because, like I told you before, I saw a kid who needed help. Nothing else,” Quinton answered.
Tyrell stared at the orcish man in his dark eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. He found none.
The energy around Tyrell’s arms flickered out of existence and the boy slumped where he stood. He continued to stare uncomprehendingly at the large man. “Why?”
Quinton frowned. “Why what?”
“Why are you helping me?” Tyrell asked.
“I already told you—”
“Why are you helping when no one else did?” Quinton’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. “You said you’re a villain,” Tyrell continued. “So, why? Why are you helping me when not even heroes did?”
Quinton blinked owlishly as the suddenly vulnerable teen in front of him. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, unable to come up with anything to console the teen. Thankfully, Isabel took that moment to speak.
“Tyrell,” she spoke softly. “The world isn’t black and white. There is always another side to things. Another side to a story. I’m not saying all villains are good, but they’re not all evil. Sometimes, they’re just people trying to survive.”
“Is that what you are?” Tyrell asked.
“Yes,” Isabel replied with a smile. “I won’t lie, we are villains. We regularly break the law and we have hurt people in the past. We don’t like to, but it’s what we have to do to survive in this world.”
“But, there are legal ways to do things,” Tyrell argued.
“Tyrell, look at me,” Isabel said. “I’m a monster. Society sees me as a monster. What can I do? Ever since my Talent manifested, everyone was scared of me, even my parents. No college would accept me, no job would hire me. There was nothing I could do to support myself. I had no other options but to steal.”
She then gestured to Roland. “Roland was born blind. Because of that, he was seen as a burden and was constantly ridiculed and insulted by his family and peers. Even when his Talent arose, this view never changed. It got so bad that he ran away and resorted to living on the streets much like yourself. Marlo,” Isabel continued, “wanted to be a hero. It was their dream since they were a kid, but no one believed in them. They saw that their Talent was too weak and that they didn’t have the ‘face’ of a hero.”
“Or for any job,” Marlo mumbled under their breath.
“Regardless,” Isabel said sharply, casting a glance towards her reptilian cohort. “Society doesn’t like people like us. People that are too different. Because of that, we are often cast aside and we can either submit or we can survive.”
Tyrell pursed his lips; his mind warring with conflicting thoughts.
“You understand, don’t you?” Quinton suddenly asked, gaining Tyrell’s attention. “You’ve seen that disparity. You’ve lived it.”
Tyrell narrowed his eyes, unable to back down. “And what about you?” he asked. “What’s your excuse? What’s your sob-story? Why are you a villain?”
Marlo and Roland both bristled; insulted by Tyrell’s words. Isabel frowned and made to answer, but Quinton raised a hand. He looked down at the teen, his expression unreadable. “I’m not like the others,” he finally said. “I wasn’t mistreated or feared, but I saw others who were. I saw those that society cast aside and I didn’t like it. I couldn’t live my life knowing that others were suffering.”
“So, you became a villain?” Tyrell laughed mirthlessly.
“I became a rebel,” Quinton countered. “I became someone who refused to turn their back on those society cast aside. Apparently, supporting people like that is villainous. If that’s the case, I wear that title with pride!”
Tyrell flinched away from the large man. Shame welled up within him and he found that he couldn’t meet the man’s gaze any longer. He couldn’t meet anyone’s. He heard Quinton sigh before he walked back towards his seat and sat down. Marlo and Roland followed his lead not a second later.
“You’re more than welcome to leave,” Quinton said, breaking the silence. “Like I said, I didn’t have any bad intentions for bringing you here. You can leave whenever you want.”
Tyrell gave a single nod before quickly walking out of the room without a word. He had just reached the door when he heard Quinton call out to him again. “Tyrell. We’ll probably stay here for the next couple of days. If you need food or want a place to stay, the door will be open. You won’t owe us anything and you don’t have come with us. It’s up to you.”
Tyrell stood there for several tense seconds with his hand gripping the door knob. Eventually, he came back to himself and opened the door. After hesitating for several more moments, he stepped into the blistering cold and closed the door behind him.
***
Tusk growls in response and charges at the hero, who too rushes forward, meeting the green man halfway. A cacophonous sound, like a clap of thunder, rings out from the alley as the two slam into each other. Tusk struggles valiantly against the hero, but Ares’ strength far exceeded his own and he soon finds himself embedded in the nearby wall.
Before the green-skinned man could recover, Ares was upon him once again, smashing him through the wall and bringing down a portion of the building down in the process Not a second passed before Ares erupts from the ground, tossing an unconscious Tusk across the alley, his limp body landing next to Cobra’s. With only one enemy left, the hero turns towards Plasma.
Plasma’s blood runs cold when he sees the hero’s gaze find his. Sweat trickles down his face, fear gripping his mind. The woman walks forward, her steps purposeful and her face devoid of any emotion. The young man steps back, almost tripping over his bag, spilling many of their ill begotten goods.
“Stay back!” he shouts, energy arcing around his arms like a violent storm.
Surprisingly, the hero stops. She stood there silently, her face still blank. “Is that your Talent?”
That through Plasma for a loop. “What?”
The heroine gestures towards the energy arcing along the villain’s arms. “Your Talent,” she repeats. “You can generate energy, correct?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Incredible! Such Talents are rare in this day and age!” she exclaims. “It’s an ability bred for combat. Perfect for fighting villains. Yet, here you are…wasting it.”
“Wasting…”
“Here you are; a person with an amazing Talent, doing what? Robbing a grocery store like a common thug.” Ares glances down at one of the cans that rolled towards the hero’s foot. “Wasteful.”
Plasma’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you—”
“Kids like you think that, just because you have these amazing abilities, you’re kings of this world. That you can just go and do whatever you want. That everything is yours for the taking. Well, you can’t! There are rules that you have to follow!”
The energy surrounding Plasma’s arms spluttered out, leaving him shaking.
Seeing this act as a sign of surrender, Ares sighed. “Darn brats,” the hero mumbles. “This is what happens when you get mixed up in the wrong crowds. You and that other kid should be lucky that it was me that caught you and not some other hero.”
Plasma stiffened. “Sonar…”
“This is the real-world kid, it’s time to grow up! There are consequences to your actions and if you keep on this path, you’re going to get hurt. Now come on!” the hero says, angrily stomping towards the boy and grabbing his wrist. “I’m taking you to the police station. Maybe that will wake you u-OW!”
The heroine quickly let go of Plasma’s arm as energy arced across the boy’s arm like lightning. “Don’t you dare stand there and lecture me!” Plasma snarls, anger blazing in his eyes.
“Idiot boy!” the hero shouts angrily. “Don’t you—?”
“Do you know what it’s like to have nothing?” Plasma interrupts, startling the hero into silence. “To not have a home? To not have parents to go home to? That’s what I have: Nothing. You say that I’m wasting my Talent? No, I’m using to survive the only way I can.”
“Villainy?” the hero asks incredulously. “You could be a hero!”
“Why would I want to be a hero?” Plasma chuckles.
Ares stepped back as if slapped. “What?”
“What? Is it such a foreign concept to not want to be a glory hound?” Plasma couldn’t help but laugh at the affronted and confused expression on the hero’s face. “Surprised? Well what do you expect when you do nothing but pose for the public and do nothing to actually help people?”
“Heroes protect people from villains!” Ares argues, her eyes flashing angrily at Plasma’s subsequent laughter.
“When the cameras are rolling or people are watching!” Plasma counters. “What about when a kid’s left on their own. Wandering the streets cold, hungry, and alone.”
“Look, kid…”
“Why would I want to be someone who turns a blind eye to other’s suffering?” Plasma asks/demands. “You say that you’re here to help us, to help the people, so why is it that someone dubs a villain was the one who saved me?” he questions, glancing towards Tusk.
Ares followed his gaze and frowned. “I sympathize with you, I really do, but that doesn’t excuse your actions. You said it yourself, he—” She points at the unconscious green man, “is a villain! You shouldn’t feel obligated to help him because he saved you!”
Plasma’s eyes narrow. “I’m not doing this as a sense of obligation. I’m doing this because I want to live.” He gestures to the cans of food and non-perishables on the ground. “The stuff we stole, only what we needed to survive. Hardly even two hundred dollars’ worth of supplies.”
“Even so…”
“Save the ‘right and wrong’ spiel. I don’t want to hear it from someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be hungry,” Plasma snaps angrily.
“But we can help you,” Ares says. “Myself and the other heroes, we can—”
“Do nothing,” Plasma interrupts. “Just like you did when I was on the streets. When all of us were suffering”
“Kid…”
“It’s Plasma to you, hero,” the villain sneers.
Ares frowns and appears resigned. “Fine. If that’s how you want it, then I will treat you like any other villain!”
“If I’m judged as a villain for wanting to live, then I’m the worst villain there is!” Plasma shouts in defiance, preparing to engage the hero.
Works Of Fiction by D.J. Adams 